


Tavington's Territory

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: The Patriot (2000)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tavington takes a wounded Gabriel prisoner, but unexpectedly develops feelings for the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tavington's Territory

~*~

Tavington grimaced as the sour whiskey burned down his throat. Its silky fire would have made him wince, had he been a different sort of man. 

But Tavington never winced. Never flinched. He would never stoop low enough to show pain. He had no respect for anyone weak enough to be so obvious.

He took another swig straight from the bottle, enjoying the hot agony as it coursed into his belly. The need for drink, for distraction, increased ever since Cornwallis began riding him ceaselessly about the Ghost. 

On the one hand, Tavington wanted nothing more than to get back into the general’s good graces, make some profit, gain advancement in the ranks. But on the other hand, the temptation to smack his superior officer in the face tended to flare up whenever the man berated him about capturing Benjamin Martin. As if Tavington hadn’t combed every inch of the surrounding farmlands. As if he hadn’t beaten, bloodied, raped and bribed half the townspeople in the area just to get a lead. What did Cornwallis expect him to do? Pluck the man out of thin air?

William Tavington was at a loss. He lounged lazily in his chair, stretching like a cat, and stared at his one flickering candle. A soft night breeze caressed the flaps of his tent. Perhaps this Martin came and went on the wind, like the banshee. 

But that was a bloody foolish and drunken thought, and would get him nowhere. This man, this rebel peasant, was of flesh and blood. And flesh and blood always had a weakness. Tavington was expert at playing on a man’s weaknesses. He would crush this ghost under his boot like a worm, and move on to better, higher ambitions. 

The candle sputtered, and a memory flickered into Tavington’s mind.

Rebel Martin had cried like a woman when his stupid boy was shot. And suddenly the answer Tavington was searching for presented itself. The weakness, the Achilles heel, the downfall of Martin would rest in… 

His son.

~*~

Gabriel rode as hard as he knew how, his horse’s hooves churning up peat and loose soil in its wake. 

Faster, faster. His thoughts scattered like loose ribbons in the wind. The Butcher was after him, hard on his trail like a bloodhound. He had to lead him away from the men, away from father.

Gabriel bounded over a steep cliff, trusting the horse his father gave him, willing his mount not to topple over on the long slide down. 

On the edge of a clearing appeared a dense wood. Gabriel made for it instinctively. He knew Tavington would follow him over that cliff; he knew the obsessed, glittering sparkle in the man’s eyes. The Butcher would not stop until he was dead; Gabriel harbored no delusions of quarter.

Ducking under the bow of a tree, he galloped deep into the forest. In the distance he could hear Tavington’s horse rustle and scrape the leaves on the autumn ground. Tavington had slowed, but not stopped. He was listening for Gabriel, listening to his horse’s snorts and shaky footsteps, listening to his own desperate panting. 

The thicket hid him from sight, but with every second his mount betrayed their position. Tavington was practically sniffing the air now, coming closer. 

Gabriel knew he had no choice. 

He dismounted and slapped his steed hard on the flank, sending the horse bolting further into the forest. Using the seconds such commotion purchased, he pushed further into the sheltering stems. 

Tavington raced by, following the horse. Gabriel breathed a small sigh but couldn’t relax. The thicket had thorns. They tore at his shirt, scratched at his face. He might have squirmed, had he been a different sort of man.

Minutes ticked by like hours. He tried to listen for Tavington, but his own blood pounded in his ears, drumming out everything else. It was getting dark, twilight approached, and soon father would be worried if he did not return. He couldn’t risk any of the militia coming out here to look for him, only to be caught by the Butcher. He would have to make his move.

Trepid, like a deer in the predawn, Gabriel inched his way out of the thicket. He took his time, disentangling his clothing and hair from the thorny snares one at time until finally free. 

He chuckled, trying to release some tension. "I suppose there’s no hope of getting my horse back," he muttered under his breath.

A pistol cocked, ticking dreadfully just behind his head.

"I suppose there’s no hope for you at all," a silky, self-satisfied voice whispered.

"Tavington," Gabriel breathed, frozen. 

With a sickening crunch, the back of the pistol met his skull and black swam before Gabriel’s eyes. 

~*~

Tavington cleaned his gun with the automatic ease of long practice. He cleaned his gun, and added wood to the small fire, and kept both eyes on the boy. 

Pretty thing. Pretty in sleep, anyway. An angel’s face. The body of an Adonis. 

He smirked contemptuously. All he needed now was for the boy to softly whisper the word ‘mother’ in his sleep, and he’d be thoroughly disgusted. 

Tavington’s smirk faded a bit. He knew that was a lie. He wasn’t disgusted at all, really. The boy was young, beautiful to look at. Green. But not weak, not really. He knew better than to underestimate the colonials, which his why he kept his eyes on the boy and his hands on the gun. Soon the traitor would wake up, the interrogation would begin and with any luck, he’d have the ghost’s whereabouts by daybreak.

As if sensing his thoughts, his captive stirred. A low moan escaped from the boy before he bit his lip. Hands went up to his injured head and stopped; the boy just now realizing his wrists were bound with strong rope. Deep brown eyes cracked open, focused, and fell on Tavington.

"Good evening, young Martin. William Tavington, at your service." Tavington kept his voice light, patronizing. "How was your rest?"

The boy reared up like a wild thing, instantly regretting it, no doubt. Still, his prisoner put up a valiant effort to right himself. 

"My dear young man, do sit down." Tavington smiled. "You won’t get very far, I’m afraid."

The words sunk in the moment Gabriel strained to stand and found the noose wrapped around his neck. More of a collar really, as the end of the rope corded around the trunk of the tree instead of hanging from one of the branches. Gabriel was in no danger of choking, as long as he didn’t struggle against his bonds too much. After all, it’s harder to get answers from a suffocating prisoner. 

"You tied me to the tree," the boy growled, glaring. 

Tavington nodded once. "Quite obviously."

"You tied me up like a horse. Like a dog!" came the angry accusation.

Slowly and with deliberate grace, Tavington rose from his seat and walked towards where Gabriel lay strewn across the forest floor. As swift as a striking snake, he reached out and grabbed the boy by his soft blond hair. 

"You are a dog, Martin. A rebel dog. A traitorous dog." He pulled the thick yellow mane farther back until the boy had no choice but to look at him, to feel the caress of Tavington’s breath on his cheek. "You’re my dog, Martin. And I’m going to make you beg."

The boy shivered. It felt delicious. 

Tavington’s grip became gentle, cupping the injured head; he forced himself to remain in control. "I want you to understand, dear boy. There is no escape. There is no one out there to come and find you. No one who knows where you are. There will be no rescue, no chance to survive. Unless I deem so." Casually he ran a gloved hand down the boy’s handsome jaw, tracing the bone lightly before lifting Gabriel’s chin. "And you have yet to please me enough to deem so."

Gabriel spat in his face. Directly in his right eye. 

"I’ll never please you, you bastard!" the boy screamed.

For a moment, Tavington stood there stupidly, shocked. He never thought the lad had it in him. Chuckling bitterly, he knuckled his eye, blinked a bit, and grinned. "What spirit you Martin men have. What pride." He patted Gabriel on the head and then released him, walking back to the fire. 

The boy was rigid, tense. Probably expected to get the beating of his life. But Tavington liked to keep his victims guessing. He hated to be predictable. Besides, if he were in the boy’s place, he probably would have tried to bite his captor’s ear off. For some reason the stubborn gull of the boy amused him. More than amused him.

But he didn’t have time to waste on mind games. He would have to break Gabriel, and the sooner, the better. Gabriel was just a checkpoint on the way to his objective. 

He bent over, picking up a stick from the fire. Its point glowed red, the embers dazzling with heat. Without preamble, Tavington strode up to Gabriel, kicked him on his back and rested a heavy, muddy boot on the boy’s trembling chest. The angry orange weapon gleamed closer and closer to Gabriel’s face.

"What do you think, boy? An eye for an eye?" Tavington smiled then, giving the boy a flashing glimpse of feral teeth.

Gabriel swallowed, staring at the poker with scarcely contained fear. He said nothing. Didn’t whimper, didn’t plea. Just laid there, waiting to exhale. 

"I could jam this into your eye, into your thick, empty head. I could mark your whole body with burns. I could flay you alive. I could hang you, over and over again. I could have my horse trample over you a few times. I can, and I will, if it comes to it, Gabriel." Tavington got as close as he dared, his face mere inches from the boy’s. "But I’m sure we’re both hoping it won’t have to come to that."

Gabriel’s lips parted, nostrils flaring slightly with the effort to control his breathing. "What is it you want?" 

"What is it you think I want?"

Gabriel’s spine turned to steel. The boy shook his head slightly, now oblivious to the fiery lance. "You already killed my brother. I’ll never let you have my father."

Tavington could see the boy was serious. He could hear it in the stone-cold timber of that young, determined voice. It was maddening. He didn’t have time for martyrs. In the thick moments that stretched between them, Tavington held a private war within himself.

On the one hand, Gabriel would not be cooperative. Tavington knew he intimidated the youth, but it was not enough. Even if tortured beyond repair, the boy was too resolved, too bloody idealistic to give in. He could not be bought, and Tavington didn’t really have the time to work him over. Gabriel would have to die.

On the other hand, the boy was his only link to Benjamin Martin, and Benjamin Martin was his only link to advancement. To revenge. If the boy could not be made a betrayer, then he would have to do as bait. Gabriel would have to live. For the moment.

Tavington flung the stick back into the fire, ignoring the taunting crackle-pop it made once rekindled. He assured himself this decision had nothing to do with the soft mop of blond curls that fell into the boy’s eyes. Those endless, sad, resigned eyes. It had nothing to do with the brave way the boy fought to hide his fear. 

This was business. Nothing more.

"Very well. If you won’t take me to your father, then I will simply have to bring you to him."

"What do you mean?"

Tavington didn’t respond right away, instead gripping Gabriel’s chin between his long, sure fingers. He traced his thumb over the boy’s full lower lip. For several beats the men stared into each other’s eyes, assessing strengths and weaknesses. "It means, little one, that you get to live another day. As long as you remain useful to me." Tavington indicated his right eye. "But don’t try my patience again. I’m not well known for my mercy."

"You have no mercy," Gabriel challenged.

Tavington leaned closer, so close he could smell the soap and straw and fear on the boy’s skin. "Be sure not to forget that, young master Martin."

He rose and stalked towards the saddlebag on his horse, fishing out a blanket and more rope.

~*~

Gabriel watched Tavington fiddle with supplies, wondering if he had somehow strayed into a dream. Everything spun slightly, danced slightly off kilter. A shimmer of shattered thoughts raced through his mind. He should attempt escape. He was trapped with a dangerous killer. 

He thought of his father’s face, what it would look like, how it would stretch and crinkle with agony when he learned of Gabriel’s death. 

And just as quickly, the thought of his death slid from his mind’s grasp. He was woozy. Tired. And thirsty. 

"My head hurts," he said to himself.

"I should expect so," Tavington called over his shoulder, not bothering to even look at him. 

"You could have held me at gunpoint, you know," Gabriel complained. "Knocking me unconscious served no purpose."

Tavington turned at that, grinning. "Ah, but it gave me pleasure."

Gabriel swallowed. He could see that it did. Tavington was mad, pure and simple. He was calm, calculating, efficiently insane, the worst kind of mad. Gabriel shivered as the full helplessness of his situation dawned on him. 

Tavington wasn’t just going to kill him. He was going to draw it out. Enjoy it. Use him as bait for father and then…

"Are you going to make me wait all day?"

Gabriel blinked. Tavington was holding a canteen in front of him. He didn’t think. He just sat up as straight as he could and wrapped his lips around the nozzle, desperate for a drink before Tavington would sadistically take it back.

"Slow down, you little beast!" the man chastised, pulling the canteen away. 

Gabriel whimpered slightly, hating himself for it, and struggled not to tear up. "I’m thirsty."

"You have a knack for stating the obvious, Martin." Tavington sighed. "If you go at it like a hog, you’ll get a cramp. And we just couldn’t have that, now could we?" The honey-sweet smile seemed perverse on Tavington’s lips. Ugly.

"Now that’s hardly complimentary, Martin," Tavington teased.

Gabriel hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. Now he would never get another drink. "I didn’t mean you were ugly…" he attempted to clarify. "When you smile like that, and you don’t really mean it. It is ugly."

"I see."

"A smile should be something nice, something… not ugly."

Tavington shook his head a little. "Fascinating." 

The canteen was stuck under his nose again, and Gabriel resisted diving for it, forcing himself to take small sips. The collar didn’t help matters much.

"Here." Tavington cradled his head, right on his sore spot, and tilted Gabriel back far enough to take a proper drink. The water felt good, clean and cool. He was so thirsty; he’d spent the better part of the day riding away from this man. He must have been miles away from camp. Away from help.

"Small sips," Tavington said quietly, as if talking to a child. Gabriel obeyed, too tired to be offended.

"There, that’s enough for now. I don’t fancy untying you all night just so you can take a piss every hour."

Gabriel laughed, the image of it making him giggle. Tavington just looked at him as though he were losing his mind. Well, good. Let him think he had a loon on his hands. "Ah, you’d hold it for me, wouldn’t you, Colonel?" Gabriel displayed his best cheeky grin. 

He expected it would earn him a nice solid punch, square on his jaw. 

Instead, Tavington smiled mysteriously. "Would you like me to hold it for you, Gabriel?" he asked, his voice both suggestive and dangerous.

Gabriel couldn’t contain a slight shiver. "No thanks. No telling what you might do with it."

Tavington laughed out right then, and corked the canteen. He checked Gabriel’s bonds, then stalked over to the other side of the fire and wrapped a warm woolen blanket around himself. 

Tavington looked into the fire; Gabriel looked at Tavington. "What’s going to happen? Are we staying here ‘til the morrow?"

Tavington looked up and nodded briefly. 

"Are you taking me to your camp? Are we staying in the woods? How will you let my father know you have me? What--"

"Martin. I need you alive so that your idiot father can come claim you. I don’t need your tongue, so I suggest you keep it safely in your mouth and get some sleep."

Gabriel snapped his jaw shut. For a long time he just lay there, watching the red and yellow flickers of the fire dance across Tavington’s face. Out in the darkness, owls and wolves and night things stalked under a pale moon, screeching and howling to their prey. Gabriel knew exactly how the small forest creatures felt. Tavington was silent, and still, but no less a predator. Despite the colonel’s command, Gabriel knew he would get no sleep tonight.

~*~

Tavington watched from under lowered eyelids as the boy nodded into exhaustion. Every once in a while, his head would jerk up a little with tremendous effort, but soon enough that strong jaw rested lightly on his chest, and his breathing became even. 

Only so young a man could sleep on a night such as this. Tied to a tree. His mortal enemy not but five feet away. The corners of Tavington’s mouth turned up a little.

Truly, the youth was exquisite. Despite a hard day’s ride—and it was a hard day’s ride; Tavington did not deceive himself into thinking he was as young as he used to be—despite the intense chase and a blow to the head, the boy still looked ravishing. His simple tunic had been ripped in the thicket, revealing titillating patches of wiry muscle on his arms and chest. Little red scratches marked his cheeks, his throat, making his sun-kissed skin seem more delicate somehow. This was a farmer’s son. No stranger to hard work. How then, could he look so fragile in sleep?

And then there was the matter of his shocking blond hair. Tavington wanted to take off his gloves and run his fingers through it, twist it around and around until the silky texture was familiar, imprinted. Tavington wanted to take that full lower lip into a bruising kiss, wanted to suck on it until it was swollen and pink and wet. The longer he stared at the boy, the greater his desire grew.

What did he look like under those poor, ragged clothes? Would he be thick and strong, banded with muscles developed from a lifetime of working in the fields? Would he be thin, pale, like so many of the soldiers in the lean months of this war? Had another seen the secret of this boy’s flesh? 

A hot, electric bolt of jealousy rifled through Tavington. It was an unfamiliar sensation, the desire to be in sole possession of a lover. Tavington had never bothered that much about anyone before. He had had his share of whores, and serving boys, and the occasional enlisted man, eager to please. None of them captured his interest for very long. None of them mattered enough to even learn their names, let alone to merit a fierce streak of jealousy. 

Strange that this boy could illicit such a reaction from him. Strange, and entirely too dangerous. Wanting to fuck the little savage was one thing; wanting to own him was another, altogether too involved, notion. 

In his sleep, Gabriel groaned a bit. The night chill made him shiver and curl in on himself. Hiding his face from Tavington’s gaze. Insupportable.

Tavington got to his feet and walked without sound over to where his hostage slept. Uncertain, as though he had never done it before, he draped his blanket over Gabriel’s prone form, watching the boy snuggle into the warmth instinctively. 

He smiled. "Little savage."

Somewhere too close for Tavington’s comfort, a wolf howled. What a godforsaken country this was. He suppressed a shiver of his own as the night air blew around him. Nothing to do but wait until dawn and take his prisoner back to camp. Wherever that may be. Tavington was so heated in the pursuit, he neglected to pay careful attention to the path he rode. He knew Cornwallis’ troops were somewhere south and east, and as soon as the sun came up, he would backtrack their trail. 

But for now, it was cold. And too quiet, but for the night howling. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself to the ground and climbed under the blanket. 

He closed his eyes and began to let his sore muscles relax. No sooner had he started to drift asleep, then the boy rolled over and plopped onto him. He tensed as Gabriel shifted a bit, his bound hands resting on Tavington’s torso, his head filling the small nook between Tavington’s chin and shoulder. A perfect fit. 

The boy exhaled softly, his warm breath puffing across the nape of Tavington’s neck. He could smell him. Soap and straw. Sweat. Something sweet, musky. He could feel that incredibly soft hair tickle his jaw, his Adam’s apple. Tavington didn’t know which was worse, the maddening tickle of the boy’s hair, or the rock-hard erection he now sported as a result. 

He could always move, take the blanket back and sleep elsewhere. Hell, he could roll the lad over and fuck him long into the night, if he wanted. But looking down onto that angelic face, those long smoky lashes resting on the apple of the boy’s cheeks, the innocent way the boy tucked into Tavington’s heat… He didn’t want to rape the boy. 

No, not rape. He wanted to seduce. 

Seduction would be much more satisfying in the end, he reassured himself. He could have the boy, of the boy’s own free will, even! And that would be the breaking point. That would be Gabriel’s undoing. The destruction of his pride. And the perfect final revenge against Martin, once he was caught. 

All Tavington had to do was wait for the right weakness to present itself. And not allow himself to get emotional in the process. 

He grinned overtop of the boy’s head. Having a plan of action always made Tavington feel better.

~*~

Gabriel felt comfortable, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. He kept his eyes closed, not ready to wake up and go out to the fields. Soon enough father or Abigail would call him downstairs, he would wolf down some griddlecakes, and be out under the hot planting sun. But for now, he was comfortable, his pillow firm but pleasant. He was fuzzy, lost in that place between dreaming and awake.

And as usual, he was hard. Every morning since he crossed the threshold from childhood to a young adult, he would wake to find himself stiff and swollen with budding desire. He rubbed himself languidly against the mattress, luxuriating in the stolen pleasure of pressure against his cock. He moaned a bit, self-indulgent, and rocked his hips back and forth ever so slightly. It felt so good. He sighed.

"Enjoying yourself, little one?" intruded a soft voice, dripping with sex and sarcasm.

Gabriel’s eyes flicked open, and he pulled back a bit to register Tavington’s smirking face. Pure revulsion shook through him and he started to spring back. But Tavington had wrapped a strong arm around his waist, refusing to let him retreat. He resisted, but Tavington held onto the rope around his neck and pulled him forward again.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, to me," the man said quietly, the words falling off his tongue like rose petals. 

"Let go."

"I don’t think I will." Tavington reeled him in slowly, until their breath mingled. With one arm still caging Gabriel close to him, Tavington’s other hand trailed lightly down Gabriel’s stomach, mapping the muscles there. Nails scraped gently over Gabriel’s torso, making him suck in his breath. Finally, Tavington’s hand traveled into the valley of Gabriel’s hips, brushing casually across his hard mound.

"You dare?" Gabriel said, straining away.

The man’s eyes twinkled in amusement. "You were the one grinding your cock into me this fine morning, young man." Even as he said it, he palmed Gabriel’s erection, rubbing and kneading him through the fabric of his trousers.

Gabriel groaned, couldn’t help pushing forward slightly into the touch. "Stop it. Let me go."

Tavington pushed him back to the ground, his hand never ceasing its slow, maddening torture of his swollen flesh. Soon the dark haired man leaned over Gabriel completely, his body pressed so close that Gabriel could smell his cologne, his sweat, the stain of whiskey on his sweet breath. 

"I don’t think you really want me to let you go, Gabriel. I don’t think you want me to stop."

The pace increased slightly and Tavington squeezed with just the right pressure, making Gabriel close his eyes and pant with need. 

"I think it feels good, Gabriel, so good." That voice. That voice groped and caressed Gabriel as if it were a physical thing. It slipped into Gabriel’s thoughts and made the blood pound through his veins. 

"I think you want my hands on you, little one. Stroking you. Shaping your heat. Molding you." Tavington paused his sensual description long enough to lick at Gabriel’s exposed throat, his tongue breaking contact only as it traveled over the collar of the rope. He nipped and sucked at Gabriel, making him cry out a little. 

"No! Let… let… me go."

The hand on his cock increased its seductive assault, rubbing Gabriel with delicious, forbidden friction. Tavington bit down on the cords in Gabriel’s neck, drawing him out, making him so hard, so hard, so damn close…

And then emptiness. All sensation stopped. The hand was gone, the mouth removed from his shivering flesh. 

Tavington looked down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

"What…?"

A wry smile twisted the colonel’s lips, and this time it didn’t look ugly to Gabriel. It looked like pure sin. "You told me to stop, to let you go. Isn’t that what you wanted?" 

"You’re the very devil sent from hell, Tavington."

The man laughed. "Come then. Let me tempt you. Let me finish what you started."

Gabriel began to protest, but Tavington sealed his mouth with an insistent kiss. He latched onto Gabriel’s lips and rocked his head from side to side, pressing the corners of their mouths together with distracting expertise. Tavington’s wicked tongue stroked and licked at him, prying his lips apart, gently lapping inside the cave of his mouth. That wicked, sinful tongue caressed his own, licked at the roof of his mouth, playfully explored the hidden hollows. It coaxed and cajoled and enticed Gabriel until he thought he would go mad.

Tavington produced a dagger from somewhere and cut Gabriel’s hands free, but before Gabriel could think to push him away, he resumed his none-too-tender ministrations.

The hand returned to Gabriel’s flesh, this time sneaking under his trousers to cup him intimately, skin to skin. Gabriel whined as Tavington wrapped his long, sure fingers around the aching flesh, whined as the man rendered firm, sure strokes to his shameful desire. Gabriel whined, and pressed up to feel it more, and accepted Tavington’s invitation to return the kiss. He slipped his own tongue cautiously into the man’s demanding mouth, tentatively explored the taste of the other man as he wrapped his fingers around Tavington’s powerful arms. 

So good. So very good. 

He had to break away, had to pant for air. 

Tavington used this opportunity to kiss and lap at his throat again, battering him with warm, wet sensations. Gabriel turned his head and shut his eyes, trying to combat the pleasure. But Tavington only used this to his advantage, flicking his tongue over the shell of Gabriel’s ear, blowing hot, moist breath across it until Gabriel was reduced to a shuddered heap on the forest floor. 

Tavington sucked on his earlobe, bit down slightly. Then he wrapped his free hand into Gabriel’s hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look at the older man.

"Open your legs," he commanded. "Open your legs for me."

In a haze, Gabriel obeyed, spreading his legs slightly underneath Tavington. The man withdrew his hand from Gabriel’s prick, watching as Gabriel struggled to keep his disappointment from showing.

Then Tavington rested his full weight between Gabriel’s thighs, aligning their stiff cocks perfectly. The colonel ground his hips down, making Gabriel’s jaw drop open with shock. Tavington ground his hips in circles, each one getting wider, each one adding pressure, making Gabriel claw at him in frustration. 

"Wrap your legs around me, little one."

The words almost didn’t register, so great was Gabriel’s newfound bliss.

"Wrap your legs over my hips. It will feel better," Tavington whispered in his ear.  
Gabriel moved his heavy, throbbing limbs, letting his legs slide up and over Tavington’s. The colonel began thrusting forward then, the angle utter perfection, utter pleasure, then. Gabriel couldn’t take it anymore; he grabbed Tavington’s ass and pushed the man closer, demanding a more brutal rhythm. He bucked his hips up, delighting in Tavington’s appreciative groan, and he vindictively ran his fingernails down Tavington’s back.

The result was a devastating kiss from the older man, violent, possessive, completely dominating. Gabriel couldn’t breathe in the wake of such force. It felt amazingly wonderful, to be surrounded by Tavington’s spicy scent, his hard, sculpted body, his thick, powerful cock. Gabriel wanted more, needed more.

He began ripping his tunic open, exposing his chest in order to feel the rough fabric of Tavington’s dragoon uniform. Tavington halted the kiss to watch, mesmerized as Gabriel exposed more and more of his flesh to Tavington’s hungry gaze.

"Yes. Show me." Tavington scooted up a bit, allowing Gabriel some room to draw his shirt up and out of his trousers, and then finally to pull it apart in demure obedience. In a heartbeat, Tavington’s mouth was upon him, licking, nuzzling, biting at every inch of his chest. He pulled one of Gabriel’s nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until Gabriel thought he would scream. 

Then Tavington changed tactic abruptly, switching to the other nipple, but this time sucking on it perversely, as a babe would nurse its mother. Gabriel cupped Tavington’s head, and drew him closer with his legs. He began a counter rhythm to Tavington’s circular grinding, enjoying the man’s moan and slight tremble. 

Tavington stared up at him as he continued to suck and then flick his tongue across Gabriel’s nipple. Gabriel arched and mewled in wanton abandon. 

"You’re a hot little whore, aren’t you Gabriel. A hot little savage whore." Tavington whispered it affectionately, and Gabriel turned his face away, blushing.

Tavington forced Gabriel to turn his head back, to look into his hypnotizing blue eyes. "No hiding from me now, little one. I want to see you."

Gabriel swallowed, running his hands up Tavington’s back and down his sculpted front. "I want to see you, too," he whispered, his cheeks flaming.

"Of course, precious. How selfish of me." Tavington proceeded to remove his uniform and open his shirt, taking his time, as if he were not at all bothered by their frantic tryst. It made Gabriel burn with anger and desire. He watched as a dusky brown nipple appeared, then Tavington’s full naked torso, its flesh impressive, perfection, absolute male beauty. 

Shyly Gabriel arched up, licked at Tavington just across his pectoral, thrilling as Tavington grabbed his hair and tugged him closer. He latched onto Tavington’s left nipple, returning the favor, and listened as the colonel grunted approvingly. He wanted more approval, more sounds from the colonel, more proof of his effect upon the man’s desire.

Boldly, Gabriel reached down and flattened his palm against Tavington’s substantial length, feeling the man harden even further underneath his fingers. White-hot arousal spiked into Gabriel as he watched Tavington throw his head back and hump his hand. Tavington braced himself over Gabriel on his left forearm and used his right hand to trap Gabriel’s palm to his throbbing flesh.

Gabriel offered no resistance, instead enjoying the force with which Tavington guided them both to pleasure. "You’re so hard," Gabriel whispered. "So hot."

Tavington muttered a curse. "That mouth of yours will be my undoing." He kissed him then, a possessive, claiming sort of kiss. "Let’s see if we can’t find a better use for that pretty mouth."

Gabriel blinked, settling further back onto the ground as Tavington’s hands went to undo the lacings of his uniform’s trousers. He stared in wonder as the colonel took his own thick, dripping length into shaking hands. Gabriel’s mouth dropped open a bit as he saw Tavington’s size, noted the weeping evidence of arousal and realized Tavington’s amazing self-control. 

Tavington sat on Gabriel’s chest without ceremony, placing his cock on Gabriel’s lips. "Lick it, little one."

Beyond even thinking of argument, Gabriel lapped at the colonel’s prick with the tip of his tongue, watching for any sign of Tavington’s approval or displeasure. 

"More, little one. Much more." Tavington’s voice was grainy, heavy with the burden of denial.

Gabriel ran the full length of his tongue over the underside of Tavington’s cock, watching as Tavington fought to keep from screaming. He did it again. And again. He loved the way the older man grappled and raked his fingernails down the trunk of the tree behind them. The way he very nearly went over the edge. 

"Suck it," Tavington growled, a fierce order now. 

Gabriel opened his mouth and tried to take as much of the man as he could, but he was so unsure…

"It’s all right, my little savage. You’re doing perfectly." Tavington ran a loving finger down Gabriel’s jaw. "Suck on it as if it were a sweet," he instructed. "A sweet for you to treasure."

Gabriel wrapped his lips around the head of Tavington’s cock and sucked and licked with all his might, remembering the way Tavington had kissed him earlier. He devoured Tavington. Soon enough, the colonel’s hips began snapping forward, demanding further entrance into his hot, willing mouth. He ran his hands over Tavington’s thighs, cupped his ass and helped him slide further and further in, feeling so debauched, thrilling as Tavington fucked his mouth. 

"Sweet God in heaven," Tavington swore, pulling out, gasping for air. 

"Did I do something wrong?" Gabriel wondered, worried.

"No, angel. No, my sweet. You are too good, too good by far. I don’t want it over too soon."

Gabriel blinked, understanding dawning. "You want to fuck me." It wasn’t a question; he already knew it was inevitable.

Tavington slid down and rested his full weight on him again, pressing every inch of their bodies together. "And you want to be fucked. Don’t you, Gabriel?"

He shivered, knowing it to be true. He could feel the blood stain his cheeks, his ears and throat. Too hot for fear, too hot for shame. So hot for it. For him.

He opened his eyes and said in a sure voice, "I want you to fuck me, William."

~*~

Tavington reeled. He did not expect such passion, such sweet submission. The boy was eager, obedient, but not supplicating. He was flushed with embarrassment and desire and only looked all the more angelic for it. Sweet God, what had he gotten himself into?

Hearing those words from that soft, pink mouth. He didn’t know what shattered him more: hearing the boy say fuck or calling him William. He shuddered, his shaft almost bursting with a grasping desire. For a moment, all he could do was run the pad of his thumb over the line of that soft, pink mouth. The mouth that had worked so hard to pleasure him. 

Lust seared through him and he grabbed the boy roughly, lifting, then turning him over. "On your knees, my hot little whore."

Gabriel scrambled up on all fours, waiting none-too-patiently as Tavington yanked his trousers down to mid-thigh. He pushed the boy’s tunic up as far as it would go, reveling in the long expanse of marbled flesh, of the smooth swell and dimples of the boy’s delectable ass. He ran his tongue along the boy’s cleft and smirked when Gabriel let out a startled yelp.

"Open your legs wider," he said, staring at the boy’s luscious flesh and praying for the strength to make this last.

He used his thumbs to part the mounds of chiseled globes, exposing the delicate pink rose of Gabriel’s entrance. He licked his fingers, knowing it would not be slick enough to take a virgin, but past caring. He teased at Gabriel, tracing his forefinger around that tight ring of muscle, pushing in slightly and then pulling away just as Gabriel would thrust back. 

The boy growled. He really was hot for it. Best not to make him wait too long, as the young ones always came so quickly. 

He slipped his finger inside as gently as he knew how, more gently than he ever had for any of his other lovers. He wrapped his arm around Gabriel’s waist, pulling up taut against his body for support, and then began to fuck the boy with his fingers. First one, then two, pausing whenever the trembling and moaning got to fever pitch. 

"Easy now, my little one. Wait for me."

Gabriel nodded silently, his whole body shaking with pain and anticipation. Tavington could hardly wait any longer himself. After what seemed like an eternity, the boy was loosened enough to accommodate, and Tavington took his cock in hand and positioned himself.

"This will hurt, Gabriel," he said honestly. "But I will make it feel so good."

He bit down on the boy’s neck and then slowly thrust in, using all his concentration and willpower to keep from slamming into the boy’s virgin sheath. He was so blessed tight, so hot and pliant underneath him. He pushed farther in, mindful of Gabriel’s cries and breathy exclamations. 

He watched as the boy clutched handfuls of grass on the forest floor; he covered the boy’s twitching hands with his own, entwining their fingers. "Hold on to me, little one."

Gabriel whimpered as Tavington began to thrust, his grip on Tavington’s fingers almost painful. 

"I won’t let go, Gabriel. I won’t let go. You’re mine now. Mine."

He rocked his hips up, searching and finally finding that sweet pleasure center within the boy. The change was dramatic. Gabriel stopped whining, and held still as Tavington showed him this new ecstasy. Soon enough, he started rocking back, arching his ass to feel Tavington’s thrusts better. Tavington liked it. He loved it. His boy was so beautiful in passion, so painfully beautiful in abandon.

"William," the boy kept whispering, over and over, a prayer, a litany, an entreaty.

He had to gulp for air, had to fight to form the words. "Yes, little one? Yes?" 

"More. More please."

He twined his fingers in the boy’s golden hair, forcing him to arch like a bow. "Speak up, little one."

"More, please!" Gabriel cried. "Fuck me harder, William!"

It was his undoing, that strangled request. The sight of Gabriel Martin, on all fours like a bitch in heat, plucked taut, hair loose and wild over his flushed face, ass arched in greed, moaning, begging, screaming for Tavington to fuck him harder. His control snapped and he pushed Gabriel down, trapping the brunt of their weight onto the boy’s elbows. He forced Gabriel low to the ground and pounded mercilessly into his sweet, virgin hole. 

Again and again his hips snapped forward, thrusting, rutting, claiming territory deeper and deeper into Gabriel Martin. He would fuck the boy into total submission. He would make him addicted to his brutal love. Every inch of Gabriel would be his, his to mark, his to claim. He would fuck his way into Gabriel’s mind, into Gabriel’s heart. Stamp his seed into the boy’s very being, and let it root so deep he’d never get it out. 

"Mine," Tavington snarled, slapping Gabriel’s ass with every thrust in. It only excited the boy more, making him writhe and squirm and whimper deliciously underneath him. He snaked his hand across Gabriel’s belly and jerked the boy’s hot flesh within his tight fist. 

"Ah, God, William!" Gabriel cried, his pelvis straining both towards Tavington’s hand and back onto his ravaging cock. 

"Mine! Mine!" Tavington insisted, slamming his full weight into Gabriel now, delighting in the boy’s keening pleasure and agony.

"Yours! William, I’m yours--"

Tavington could feel the tingle of a tidal wave form at the base of his spine. He tugged harder on the boy’s flesh, amazed at the endurance, then realized that Gabriel was waiting for his permission.

He bent his head and whispered in naked want, "Come for me, my hot little whore. Come all over my hand!" 

Gabriel choked on a groan and jerked forward one last time, his hot seed gushing in jets over Tavington’s fingers and onto the ground beneath them. Ropes and ribbons of lust streamed out of the boy; he kept coming, again and again, his body wracked with pleasure. The scent of the boy’s come filled his nostrils and Tavington teetered on the edge of orgasm. Gabriel’s muscles clenched, squeezing Tavington exquisitely, the pain and pleasure building to unbearable heights. 

Tavington came hard, harder than he’d ever come in his life. Torrents of his hot, silky lust filled the boy, marked him, tainted him, burned its way into him forever.

He collapsed on top of the youth, too spent to do anything but breathe. When he came to, he rolled to the side, taking Gabriel with him, and cupped the boy to his chest. He brushed the grass and leaves off of Gabriel’s face tenderly, the dazed expression making the boy’s features once again angelic and beautiful.

"Are you all right, Gabriel?"

Gabriel nodded wordlessly, limp against him for a long time. He stroked the boy’s hair and kissed his forehead, rocking him absently. In time, Gabriel’s eyes became less cloudy, his expression less drugged. 

"Are you all right?" Tavington repeated.

"Yes, William. I’m all right."

Tavington smiled at the sound of his name, and kissed the boy chastely on the mouth. "Far better than all right, I’d dare say. Do all you colonials have such passion, Gabriel Martin?"

Gabriel grinned sheepishly. "Just us rebellious ones."

And reality came crashing back. Tavington focused on just breathing, trying to dispel the sinking weight in his chest. His heart hurt; it was hard to get air. 

After all, Gabriel and he were enemies; caught on either side of a bloody and ruthless war. A war made more bloody and ruthless by him. It was important he not forget, he was a ruthless man.

Ruthless enough to use this beautiful, courageous boy for both his lust and his desire for revenge. Ruthless enough to kill him in cold blood.

He looked down to find Gabriel staring up at him, sad, resolved. The boy stroked his cheek so softly, so lovingly then. Leaned up, and whispered a kiss across his lips, across his cheek, before dropping back into his arms in exhaustion. 

Tavington sighed and looked up at the sky, watched the lazy clouds float over the autumn morning. He watched his career floating away, watched his lands, his future, ripple and float away. 

In a flash he brought up his dagger, not even giving Gabriel enough time to tense up. He pressed the blade on the boy’s throat then ripped the dagger up, slicing through the last rope binding Gabriel to his captivity. 

Gabriel stared at him, blinking owlishly. Such a childish expression, such a sweet, charming boy. He couldn’t resist one more kiss; one more slow, claiming, tender kiss. 

"I’m going to sleep now, dear one. You’ve exhausted me. Long journey ahead of us." He stared at Gabriel, hoped the boy would choose the right path. Unable to bear that fragile look, that delicate unspoken promise, Tavington lay down and closed his eyes, and released his arms from about Gabriel.

For long moments Gabriel just lay there, his head resting on Tavington’s shoulder, their heartbeats pounding together. Tavington thought he could feel the hot prick of tears on his naked chest, but he dared not open his eyes to see. He feigned sleep and eventually the boy sat up. Pulled on his clothes. Quietly, deftly, leaned over and placed the sweetest kiss to his lips.

Tavington lay there, drowning in the butterfly-soft caress of that kiss for timeless moments. When he opened his eyes, it was midday. And Gabriel was long gone.

He could have followed him. Probably right into Benjamin Martin’s camp. But he didn’t. 

Without the little one beside him, Tavington felt lost, alone. Without country, without loyalties. His heart was an empty landscape of pain. Yours, William, his memory whispered to him. I’m yours. 

And suddenly Tavington knew which part of this wild land belonged to him. He knew where the boundaries of his territory fell. 

In the fragile eyes, in the heartfelt promise, of a young American boy. 

~*~ End ~*~


End file.
